


Every (Christmas) Song I've Ever Loved

by OpenEndedDoor



Series: Love In Perspective [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Chicago (City), Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpenEndedDoor/pseuds/OpenEndedDoor
Summary: Patrick doesn't want to write about his favorite Christmas song.This is a sequel toWrite Me Offbut can be read separately. I missed these guys and wanted to return to them, and what better excuse than the fluffy domesticity that the holiday season provides?
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: Love In Perspective [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016080
Comments: 28
Kudos: 51





	Every (Christmas) Song I've Ever Loved

**Author's Note:**

> Endless thanks to [Logale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Logale) for beta reading and listening to me ramble about Peterick even though it's not your ship. <3

_..._

_It’s the holiday season, and I’m feeling charitable. Tell me what you want me to write about in the comments!_

_Posted by Soul Punk on Dec 3, 2010_

**Comments:**

_Comment #1 by insincerehomeboy:_

_On Dec 2, 2010_

_Babe, Chicago wants to know: what’s your favorite Christmas song?_

Patrick is sitting on the bed next to Pete, watching him type into the comment box of Patrick’s blog.

“Do not click Send,” Patrick says.

Pete clicks Send.

“Okay, see, now you’ve made me the asshole, because I’m not gonna write about that.”

“Oh, come on,” Pete says, and it’s infuriating how adorable he looks when he smiles playfully. “You have to have a favorite Christmas song.”

“I really don’t.”

Pete closes his laptop and moves it onto the table next to his side of the bed. “Don’t be such a Scrooge,” he says, scooting closer to Patrick.

“I’m not a Scrooge. I just genuinely don’t have a favorite Christmas song, nor do I want to write about Christmas songs on my blog.”

“Then don’t ask people to tell you what to write about.” Pete slides his hands under the hem of Patrick’s shirt.

“You are not _people_. You’re my boyfriend, and you’re not allowed to tell me what to write about.”

“Wow, that hurts.” Pete lifts Patrick’s shirt and places a kiss in the center of his chest.

“I know it’s your job to play devil’s advocate, but — oh.” Patrick has lost his train of thought because Pete’s hand has slipped underneath the hem of Patrick’s boxers and his lips have moved to Patrick’s nipple.

“Go on,” says Pete to Patrick’s chest.

“Maybe we can talk about this later,” Patrick breathes.

Pete swings his leg over Patrick and straddles him. “I think that sounds like a great idea.” 

*****

Patrick has learned a lot about Pete over the four months they’ve been dating, and one thing that quickly became apparent is that Pete loves holidays. The lengths he went to for Halloween were on a level Patrick had never witnessed before. He decorated his entire apartment, Patrick’s entire apartment, Joe’s entire apartment, and Andy’s entire cafe. He was determined to do an elaborate group costume, which turned into the four of them dressing as the Ghostbusters, and he hosted a party with themed food straight out of a Martha Stewart magazine.

It would have been slightly alarming if it wasn’t so cute.

“We’re definitely getting these!” Pete throws a box of Little Debbie Christmas cakes into the shopping cart Patrick is pushing through the grocery store. It joins the pile of Keebler Jingles, Hostess Winter Sno Balls, and peppermint Hershey Kisses already nestled in the cart.

“At least your sugar coma will be festive,” says Patrick. “When I pull you off the couch later and you burp in my face, I swear, it will sound like jingle bells.”

Pete laughs and gives Patrick a quick kiss. They’re still a little hesitant about PDA, but Patrick is finding it harder and harder to care, and Pete’s jolly mood is admittedly beginning to rub off on him.

They haven’t officially moved in together yet, but Pete stays at Patrick’s apartment so often that it practically makes the point moot. They grocery shop for both of them, and Pete has his own drawers reserved in Patrick’s bathroom and bedroom, filled with extra toiletries and clothes that he bought for the express purpose of staying at Patrick’s. The mornings when Pete can’t be there for whatever reason feel as cold and lifeless as the bare trees outside Patrick’s window.

“I love this song,” Pete says, humming along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” playing on the overhead system as he tosses a package of red and green M&Ms into the cart.

*****

“I told you!” Patrick is laughing at Pete, who’s clutching his stomach and groaning.

“You should’ve stopped me after the second Sno Ball,” moans Pete.

“You’re a grown man. If you want to eat your way through all of the Christmas-themed baked goods that capitalism has to offer, then who am I to stop you?”

“Ugh, babe, this is miserable. Christmas is miserable.”

“Aww, poor Petey.” Patrick sticks out his bottom lip.

Patrick moves off the couch and goes to the DVD player to swap _Die Hard_ for _The Nightmare Before Christmas_.

“I maintain that _Die Hard_ is a Christmas movie,” Pete says. “And frankly, I don’t see how you can disagree after watching it.”

“Just because a movie happens to feature snow and a Santa hat, that doesn’t make it a Christmas movie.”

“It has more than that! John McClane’s wife’s name is Holly, for Chrissakes. And people specifically watch _Die Hard_ on Christmas,” Pete protests. “It’s, like, one of the most-watched movies on the holiday itself. Channels marathon it.”

“Ah, yes,” says Patrick. “I forgot that you let popular culture shape your personal opinions.”

“Okay, Mr. Indie Mixtape, don’t get all pretentious on me right now. My stomach can’t take it.”

Patrick snuggles back into Pete’s chest as the opening notes of “This Is Halloween” play through his TV’s speakers. 

As Pete wraps his arm around Patrick, he says, “This is the best Christmas movie, though. You know why?”

“Because it doubles as a Halloween movie.”

Pete smiles and tips Patrick’s chin so their lips meet, kissing him softly and sweetly. “You know me so well, babe.”

A little while later, when Jack Skellington sings “What’s This?” while exploring Christmas Town, Pete sings along at the top of his lungs, stomachache be damned.

*****

“Oh, my god, what are you wearing?”

Pete’s grin is electric enough to put out all of the Christmas lights in a 10-mile radius. He’s standing in Patrick’s room, dressed in tight jeans and — “That’s the tackiest sweater I’ve ever seen on a human being.”

“On a human being? As opposed to what?”

“I’ve seen some really tacky sweaters on dogs.”

The sweater in question is a panoply of cliched Christmas images, and it has _fuzzy balls_. Patrick has never seen a sweater with fuzzy balls before. Of course Pete would be the one to introduce him to fuzzy balls on sweaters.

“I don’t have to wear a fuzzy-ball sweater, do I?” Patrick whines.

“Babe,” says Pete, taking both of Patrick’s hands in his and looking into his eyes, “I would never make you wear fuzzy balls.”

“I knew I loved you for a reason,” Patrick says.

They head to the bar, hand in hand, to watch a few local bands play. Patrick will have his reviewer hat on alongside his fedora, but he’s feeling relaxed and generous tonight. He wishes he could turn his critic brain off and just enjoy the show with Pete.

An hour later, Pete’s fuzzy-ball Christmas sweater is lying on the table they’ve staked out, discarded and probably splashed with beer along with Patrick’s leather jacket as they sweat in their t-shirts together in the pit. 

Then the band starts playing “The Season’s Upon Us,” and Pete barks out a happy laugh and jumps up and down. “They’re playing — holy fuck!”

Pete pulls Patrick close, wrapping his arms around his waist, and he screams the lyrics along with the band. It’s impossible for Patrick not to join in. The show will get a good review, but Patrick is having a lot of thoughts about how the merits of a show often depend on the company you’re with and the memories you’ll associate with it.

*****

Patrick wakes up the next morning to Pete singing “Santa Baby” along with Eartha Kitt. He shuffles into the kitchen half-awake and still rubbing his eyes.

“Is that —” He blinks. “Are those —”

“Christmas tree pancakes, baby!” Patrick’s eyes are drawn to a stack of green, Christmas-tree shaped pancakes on a plate on the counter. It doesn’t escape his notice that there’s food coloring on the counter, as well, and on Pete’s fingers. Patrick has the sudden urge to try to lick off the stains. In fact, his body is responding to the sight of Pete’s hands, Pete’s tattooed shirtless body, and the sexual undertones of “Santa Baby” in a very obvious way.

Pete raises his eyebrows. “Is that for me?” He moves close to Patrick, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist. “Christmas came early this year?”

“I’m gonna come early this morning,” Patrick responds, tugging Pete back toward the bedroom.

“Wait, wait!” Pete drags Patrick over as he turns off the stove with his free hand, and then they scurry to the bedroom together.

Patrick pulls Pete onto the bed on top of him so fast that their heads bump. They’re both laughing as they kiss, and Pete is still smiling as he pulls off Patrick’s shirt, pajama bottoms, and underwear. He does that thing that he does that Patrick can’t get enough of, that Patrick still can’t believe — he kisses down Patrick’s entire body, lingering on each spot like he's tasting him. Patrick squirms and moans, wanting more but never wanting this to stop at the same time.

Patrick watches Pete stand up off the bed and remove his pajama pants. He’s not wearing underwear — typical of Pete — and his cock is jutting up, the tip red and already slick with precome. Pete rummages in the bedside table for lube and gets back onto the bed, kneeling on his knees. 

“Let me suck you,” Patrick says, sitting up on his elbows and looking at Pete’s beautifully flushed face. All he can think about at the moment is getting his mouth on Pete’s beautifully flushed cock.

“I’m not gonna say no to that.” Pete shuffles forward on his knees until his dick is nearly touching Patrick’s lips. Patrick looks up at Pete as he takes his cock in his hand and strokes him. 

Pete gasps when Patrick puts his lips on the head of Pete’s cock. He swirls his tongue down the shaft as he takes him in, further and further, down to the base. “You’re so good at that, babe,” Pete whispers, sounding awed, like Patrick hasn’t done this countless times before, like it’s a revelation every time.

Patrick sucks him hard and deep, while Pete brushes the hair off of his forehead and sighs and whimpers. Patrick moans around Pete’s cock, and Pete pushes him off gently. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” Pete laughs breathlessly.

“Then fuck me,” says Patrick. He’s so turned on his entire body feels taut with need, his chest fluttering in quick breaths and his dick straining hard and full against his stomach.

Pete nods rapidly, his eyes running over Patrick’s body, exposed and aching for Pete.

Pete turns Patrick over onto his stomach and takes his time getting him ready, placing kisses on the small of his back as he fingers him open. When he finally slides his cock in, Patrick feels desperate for it. He moans and arches his back, grabbing at the headboard to find some kind of purchase as he moves against the feeling of Pete inside of him. 

Pete drapes himself over Patrick. He slides his arm underneath him and wraps it around his chest, pulling him back onto his cock in a quick, hard thrust.

“Yeah,” breathes Patrick, “like that.”

They’ve been together long enough now that Pete knows what Patrick likes. He knows he likes it a little rough sometimes, and he’s more than willing to provide. So he fucks Patrick hard and fast and long, and Patrick pants and moans and grinds until the tautness releases and he’s coming all over himself and the bed.

Pete follows soon after, his hips tight against Patrick’s thighs as he comes deep inside of him, moaning and shaking.

After they’ve come down, Patrick says, “Shower?” And then he says, “Oh shit, your pancakes.”

“The pancakes will be fine,” Pete says, curling an arm around Patrick’s chest and kissing his nose. “Just a little cold.” He sighs contentedly. “This was definitely worth cold pancakes.”

*****

_This one is for insincerehomeboy, who asked me to write about my favorite Christmas song, and the rest of you bandwagoned on so much that I couldn’t ignore it. Seriously, why do you guys encourage him? You don’t have to live with him._

_As somewhat of a self-described Grinch, my initial response was, “I don’t have a favorite Christmas song,” but over the past few days I’ve realized something. I’ve realized that I, in fact, have at least four favorite Christmas songs, and they are as follows:_

_Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” — It was playing in the grocery store while you filled the shopping cart with enough sugar to put all of Chicago in a coma. I knew you would have a stomachache later, but I couldn’t tell you that then because you were dancing and humming. I don’t even think you knew you were dancing and humming, but you made me think in cliches: all I want for Christmas is you._

_Danny Elfman’s “What’s This?” — Your love for The Nightmare Before Christmas is permanent and eternal. It’s the best Christmas movie, you say, because it’s also the best Halloween movie. Being with you is like two holidays in one._

_Dropkick Murphys’ “The Season’s Upon Us” — I review a lot of shows on my blog, and I try to be as objective as possible, but I want to let everyone in on a little secret: a show is an experience, and sometimes it’s impossible to be objective about an experience, because the people you’re with color those experiences. You colored mine red and green._

_Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby” — The sight of you first thing in the morning is worth more than all of the Christmas songs in the world combined._

_And you know what? Maybe I have more favorite Christmas songs than that. My favorite Christmas song is every Christmas song that makes your eyes light up and go crinkly at the corners. My favorite Christmas song is every song that you hum along to and sing at the top of your lungs and play while making breakfast. My favorite Christmas song is every Christmas song you’ve ever loved._

_Die Hard still isn’t a Christmas movie, though. Sorry, sweetheart._

_Posted by Soul Punk on Dec 6, 2010_

**Author's Note:**

> There's a small playlist for this fic here featuring all four Christmas songs plus a few extra non-Christmas ones.


End file.
